


Absolution

by Lyrae



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Immortal Sherlock Holmes, Immortality, M/M, Mathlover! Moriarty, Moriarty is Alive, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Sherlock is a God, Space Flight, Statue Jim Moriarty, The Dynamics of an Asteroid, statue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae/pseuds/Lyrae
Summary: Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes are gods, immovable, immortal, watching the mortals from above and sometimes intervening when a mind catch their fancy.After milleniums of the same routine, they decide to live amongst humans in an effort to alleviate the boredom, Sherlock meets John, plays as a detective...And sees Jim Moriarty for the first time.It's easy to notice the death wish, the yearning that moves the man, yet Sherlock Holmes is a god and he is not ready to let go.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	Absolution

As far as he could remember, and he could remember a lot, it had always been Mycroft and him, him and Mycroft, ethereal and eternal, floating through history without any real attachments, drifting above humans and watching them with curiosity. 

They were pesky little things, strange, chaotic and violent, sometimes he was almost sure Mycroft had been the one to create them simply to alleviate his own boredom but the fact that the other absolutely refused to intervene made his whole theory completely useless.

He knew objectively that the other had been the first, first to appear, first to breathe and first to exist, but somehow not the first to experience life, he had seemed to forget a step and he had never started to live. 

Sherlock had been the second, popping into existence when humans had, as sharp-witted at the other but more facetious, craving the contact with the strange creatures, the conversations that made his life worth living.

He was always searching, seeking, looking everywhere for that familiar light, that brightness that only geniuses exuded, and once he found them, he stayed at their side until they ultimately died, acting as their muse, mentor and guardian angel at the same time.

In paintings, statues, books, he would be there, reproduced by the men and the women he chose, beautiful and elegant, the god whispering sweet nothings into their ears and giving meaning to their lives. 

That didn't mean Mycroft didn't interact with the humans too, but where Sherlock travelled the world in an effort to find intelligence, he would just settle in a country currently weaker than the others and advise its ruler, advocating balance with his every actions. 

He didn't get attached to a particular human, didn't care if they were poisoned or murdered in their sleep, didn't love their little minds like Sherlock did. 

"All hearts are broken. All lives end." he would say, icy and distant, looking down on the sleepy cities, on the small villages and on the cold castles. "Caring is not an advantage brother dear. " 

Sherlock never listened, they both knew it, he still went to mingle with the humans, picked one special enough and nurtured his light until it burnt brightly inside his chest, blazing inside his mind, and then, the man would die and the light would die with him, disappearing into the void like it had never existed in the first place.

He got used to the losses after the first few centuries, learnt to care and still erase them from his heart when they died, not forgetting them but attenuating the feelings he might have held for them. 

At some point, even they got boring though, and one day, he decided that accompanying a genius wouldn't be enough anymore, that basking in their light wasn't enough anymore, no, he needed to interact with the humans himself, to breathe the same air they did, to force himself back on earth and just live. 

"I'm coming with you. " Mycroft had insisted, making the younger scoff. 

Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes came into existence quickly enough, and soon after, everyone would assume that the two brothers were normal, if extremely smart, humans. 

Being a detective was fun, doing the legwork himself added a thrill, a spike of adrenaline that hadn't been there before, and even if he missed his geniuses, the work still proved good against the boredom.

There was something strange about the last cases he had solved though, the slightest hint of that familiar light in the corner of his vision when he discovered the culprits, the feeling of being watched, scrutinized... 

He was going to look into it more seriouslly, but it was at that moment that he met John Watson.

Their meeting in St Bart's lab had been purely accidental, a fluke of fate, a random occurrence that should have never happened, and yet, nothing had ever felt so right. 

"He will die one day. " Mycroft had said softly but yet so coldly, staring at his brother with emotionless eyes. 

"Then I will offer him immortality. "

It had been a taboo between them, always, the fact that they could turn someone into a being like them, a god of infinite possibilities and energy. 

Mycroft had always thought he would get too attached to one of his geniuses and refuse to let go, but even if their deaths had broken his heart, he had never been this close to offering it. 

"You could, but would he accept? " 

The question was simple, innocent, and yet, Sherlock knew the answer very well.

John Watson wasn't like him, wasn't like them, wasn't even like all of the geniuses he had nurtured, he was human, ordinary, a man who wanted to get married and watch his children grow older but not watch them die, a man who wished to settle one day and just live the rest of his days peacefully. 

Sherlock never offered him eternity, knowing the other's answer before he even spoke. 

\---------

James Moriarty. 

Jim from IT. 

The Napoleon of crime, the consulting criminal, the most dangerous man in the world and the brightest mind to ever graze earth, exuding a light so blinding it almost burnt his eyes.

He had appeared in that lab, following Molly, and for a second, Sherlock had thought he was dreaming, that Mycroft had somehow managed to change himself enough to fool his brother and would just smirk at him when no-one was looking. 

It hadn't been his brother though.

The man introduced himself-

_ lieslieslies _

-and Sherlock looked up. 

"Gay. " he said, because it had been the only thing that could leave his lips at this moment.

His mind had gone into overdrive, processing the supernova standing in front of him, and so his body had taken over, spewing the first thing that had come to him.

"What? "

Molly was looking at him strangely, as was John from his place in the corner of the room, but the other, the impossibility of a man, seemed unperturbed, grinning slightly.

The detective coughed, acting like nothing had happened. 

"Hey. "

He blinked, still dazzled by his radiance and when the other spoke, he missed half of his words.

What he did notice however, was the phone number left under his platter. 

He showed it to Molly to prove his point and then threw it into the trash can, but at that point, he had already memorized the digits. 

\---------

His plan was simple, bait Moriarty with the Partingtons plans, meet him and then call "Jim" in order to dissect him until he understood where his light came from, just what kind of intelligence he had, what type of genius could make him this radiant. 

As simple as it was however, it fell apart as soon as he heard the tilting, playful voice echoing into the pool's damp air... 

No, even earlier, as soon as he entered and saw the tendrils of blinding light crawling up the walls, covering the tiles. 

"I gave you my number, I thought you might call." he purred "Jim Moriarty, hi. " and Sherlock's world fell sideways.

\---------

Moriarty shone with his every moves, his every words, he shone so brightly, weaved a web so intricate that the detective couldn't help but admire him.

It was beautiful, even he had to admit, the way he planned a perfect murder or a flawless heist, there was elegance in his robberies, grace in his crimes. 

James Moriarty was a genius, the most brilliant man Sherlock had ever seen, and yet, no one even knew of him, even in the criminal world where people whispered his name in fear, he was almost a scary story, a housewife's ghost tale, people worked for him but they did not even truly believe in his existence.

Maybe that was why it was so easy for him to shed his true identity, discard his skin to wear another, shift into a completely different persona like he was simply putting on a mask. 

Sherlock Holmes met Richard Brook, and if it wasn't for the familiar light gushing out of slender frame, he would have thought that the man he had met after the trial, the man that had drank tea with him and sweetly whispered imprecation like one whispered love words, had only been a fleeting dream. 

He was fascinated, obsessed, but he knew, of course he knew, that these violent delight would have violent ends.

Unless... 

_ -Come and play. Bart's Hospital rooftop -SH _

\---------

"Staying alive... So boring, isn't it? " 

The criminal was sitting on the edge, a strange expression etched over his face, and Sherlock had lived long enough to recognise it.

Death wish, blatant, obvious, the man not even trying to hide just what he thought of life. 

They played, turned around each other, exchanged words and veiled quips like they always did, but the detective was fully focused on Jim's every moves, cautiously watching him as he threatened his friends. 

He had to admit that he lost his cool at that moment, when he heard him talk about John, knowing that his friend would die one day didn't mean that he was ready for that moment to be now, but the conversation still continued onwards. 

"I may be on the side of the angels but don't think for one second that I am one of them.

And maybe it was the conviction in his eyes, maybe it was because Jim had realised just what kind of being what standing in front of him, just who had accepted him as his equal, but he smiled soflty, sadly, his eyes gleaming with something the detective recognised too well, his tone strangely reverent when he spoke again. 

"No, you're not ordinary, you're me... " he trailed off, the words drifting into the cold London sky, as if he was still processing what he was saying "You're me!"

Louder, clearer, Jim held out his hand, his right hand, and the other one slowly strayed to his left pocket.

"Sherlock Holmes. "

The hand was outstretched, waiting, a grin etched on the criminal's face, and the other knew just what would happen if he took it.

Yet as much as he liked to ignore that fact, Sherlock Holmes was a god, and he wasn't ready to let go. 

There were no strange incantation, no intricate movement, no wonderful lights flashing around them, one moment James Moriarty was a living, breathing man, and the next he was a statue, waiting for someone to link their fingers with his. 

_ 'I'm sorry. _ ' he thought but left unsaid. 

John arrived and they spoke, it was heartbreaking, truly shattering, but his mind was focused on the stone effigy. 

"Goodbye John. "

Sherlock spread his arms to the side and fell. 

\---------

The landing was painful but that was expected, just like he had known he would survive, he had known his bones would break before healing themselves in an instant, cartilages and ligaments snapping before knitting themselves back together. 

Mycroft seemed unhappy he hadn't chosen a safer option but it was easy to ignore him so that was what Sherlock did. 

As soon as everything about his fake death was sorted out, he ran back onto the roof and took the statue away, hiding it in the middle of a forest in Ireland, the kind of place no humans knew and no humans would ever find. 

James Moriarty stayed unmoving, standing, smiling, his light as bright as it had ever been. 

"Why did you save him? " Mycroft asked. 

_ Why?  _

_ Why him when countless geniuses passed away before him?  _

_ They hadn't been as bright, of course they hadn't, no one had after all, but he had known them, cared for them...  _

"Why not?" he simply said, not knowing the answer himself, and the question still rang in his mind, unyielding, relentless. 

_ Why _ ? 

\---------

Two years, Sherlock spent two years, hidden in a forest in Ireland, sitting still in front of the statue, waiting.

He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, he knew that the criminal wouldn't start moving without his say so, so maybe he was looking for the right words to come, for the right sentences to piece together and create something that made sense.

Even if he didn't move, he still spoke though, at first he was trying out some options, putting his thoughts into words and imagining how the other would react, but at some point, he gave up and simply let the words flow out of his mouth, tales of the past and fragmented recollections, fond memories and aimless daydreams

He spoke, spoke and spoke until there was nothing left to say, until the words dried in his throat and left his lips blank.

When that happened, he simply stood up, took the dried leaves out of his hair and left.

He knew he would have more to say, that he still had so much to recount, but two years had passed and London was waiting. 

"What happened on that rooftop Sherlock?" John asked once the detective appeared back into his life. 

"I met Moriarty." was the simplest answer, and so it was the one he said. 

"And what happened afterwards? Did he just leave?"

"Yes. "

"Why did you let him go? "

John didn't understand, he didn't and he couldn't, so Sherlock licked his lips, stayed silent for an instant before answering the only thing that made sense at the moment.

"He was me. "

_ He was me and I was him. _

The doctor reacted just like he had thought he would, gaped for an instant before ultimately shaking his head. 

\--------

_ Miss me? Miss me? Miss me?  _

The message repeated as the familiar face flashed on every screen of Great Britain. 

Grinning with sharp teeth and even sharper eyes, James Moriarty looked down on the world like he wasn't supposed to be dead, like he hadn't disappeared mysteriously into the unknown, like he had always been there, hiding in the shadows. 

It wasn't him though, Sherlock knew it wasn't, the other was still deep into the forest, beneath the ancient trees, waiting with his hand outstretched. 

He still stood, unmoved and immovable, unaltered by the passing of time. 

\--------

_ Eurus _ . 

"Who is she? "

_ Not a sister, that was certain at least.  _

"A... protege. "

Mycroft looked away and Sherlock understood. 

"She saw you. " he said "She saw you, she saw God and it was too much. "

It wasn't that she hadn't been smart enough to process his existence, stupid people didn't notice Mycroft was anything but an ordinary man after all, and most geniuses needed a little push too, no, the problem was that she was too smart. 

She had seen him but not when she was a child, truly seen him, and her brain had twisted the whole world around that single fact, making that knowledge the center of the universe's axis. 

Mycroft didn't add anything at first and they stayed silent for what seemed to be an eternity, stretching into nothingness.

"She was brilliant. " he ultimately said. 

_ 'Not enough' _ that implied. 

"Not like him. " was Sherlock's only answer. 

\--------

He didn't meet Eurus until months later, after Rosie was born, after Mary died, after everything had changed and yet amounted to the same. 

It was funny in a way, if slightly sad, to see how twisted her version of reality had become, how she truly seemed to believe she had grown up at their side, experiencing the beginning of humanity and playing in the midst of history. 

John was convinced she was crazy and he was right in a way, even if it wasn't the one he thought. 

They could have gotten out at anytime, Mycroft almost abandoned any pretence when she first started killing humans, but they ultimately stayed and played her games, waiting until everything sorted itself on its own. 

Afterwards, once they had left Sherrington, Sherlock went to James, sat under the statue and closed his eyes. 

For hours on end, he spoke, told him everything about Eurus, about John and Rosy, everything he hadn't told the man in his absence. 

_ 'Did you miss me? _ '

Sometimes he could almost hear Jim speak the words, taunting, playing, wearing a grin that sliced his face in half. 

_ 'I do _ . ' Sherlock thought, but even as his visits lengthened, the criminal stayed motionless, frozen in stone. 

\--------

Surprisingly enough, it was Rosie who found about his true nature, and most importantly about his visits to Jim.

She had always been very bright, not as bright as the criminal but still a shining beacon, getting more and more radiant as years passed, until she could see him, truly see him and understand what was in front of her. 

Unlike Eurus, or most precisely, like all of the previous geniuses he had nurtured, she girl has grown up with him at her side, so the discovery wasn't so much of a shock. 

One day she just knew that Sherlock Holmes couldn't be a human being, and that was it. 

She never asked but she did track him through history, searching through books and paintings for the familiar man, looking at him with knowing eyes everytime he spoke of past events he shouldn't have been able to live through. 

One day, she followed him to Ireland when she was still a highschooler, ditching school and jumping into the same train he was taking. 

She took every steps he had until she was right behind him, staying half hidden behind a tree as he talked to the statue, sitting cross-legged on the moss. 

"He was Moriarty, wasn't he? " the girl asked after a few minutes. 

Sherlock turned around, not looking surprised in the slightest by the intrusion.

"He is. " he said instead. Using the past tense seemed wrong when he was standing right in front of the other, basking in his light. 

"Why did you do that? "

_ Why did you do WHAT?  _

_ Keep him? Turn him into stone? Talk to him?  _

Not knowing what to answer, he shrugged.

"He's a genius. I value intelligence. "

"But you didn't turn Einstein did you? Or Newton, or even Paganini for that matter. "

_ And what is the use of intelligence if he can't answer?  _

There was a silence, a moment that was at the same time too quiet and too loud before he spoke again. 

"I failed him. "

Sherlock was supposed to nurture geniuses, nurture Jim, stand at his side and whisper sweet things into his ear, brush his hair and leave soft kisses on his forehead when he was being particularly bright. 

The girl smiled, that strange smile, slightly sad, slightly thoughtful, like she somehow knew more than he did, and sent a last look at the frozen criminal before walking away. 

Years later, John Watson peacefully died in his sleep, surrounded by his friends and family. 

Sherlock Holmes disappeared in the night following the funeral and was never seen again. 

\--------

His friend's death hit him hard, harder than he had thought possible, and it was mainly in an effort to forget about his good doctor than he finally decided to study Jim's work. 

"The Dynamics of an Asteroid." 

It sounded somewhat ordinary, normal even... 

It wasn't. 

Sherlock had easily found the book, tucked in the higher shelf on a university's library, half covered by dust and obviously never read, and had taken it with him, sitting in the front of the statue to open it. 

He had held high expectations for it, knowing just how brilliant its author was, but even then, he hadn't been ready for its content. 

Mathematics, pure mathematics, intricate equations laid on the pages, undecipherable, hieroglyphic and yet so simple that it was simply unfathomable. 

Everything, there was everything in this book, laced between the numbers, hidden in the calculation, but it was so unbelievable, so esoteric, that no humans following the criminal had been able to understand the book after the five first pages. 

It was simply too strange, too all-encompassing, too early... 

Too  _ brilliant _ . 

Sherlock looked everywhere, searched the whole world for the brightest mind of the generation and then dumped the book on her laps, his smothering eyes leaving no place for rebuttal. 

"Understand. " God ordered with a sharp voice and an even sharper temper. 

_ "Understand _ . " he would have begged if it could make any difference. 

_ Understand _ . 

She couldn't. 

\--------

It took years, centuries before humanity was able to even comprehend the first equations, even more to understand its implications, and when they finally did, it took another century for the technology to catch up with the theory laid out in the book. 

Sherlock walked in the cities, amidst the high buildings and he couldn't help but smile everytime he saw a statue to Jim's effigy, a street bearing his name. 

Times had passed, the world had forgotten Sherlock Holmes and his nemesis, the most dangerous criminal mind in the world and the detective, they only remembered James Moriarty, the math professor who made all of the technology they now had possible, the man who had revolutionized the world centuries before and had been ostracized for it. 

They still couldn't understand everything that had been written, but soon they would... 

He looked at the stars, knowing what the other's goal had been all along. 

\--------

"Why did you keep him? " 

Millenniums had passed by since the rooftop events at this point, the forest had grown around them and the statue was half covered in moss, still immaculate under the greenery. 

Sherlock glanced at the frozen man, at the outstretched hand and at the empty smile. 

"Do I need a reason? "

_ 'I didn't have one _ . ' he implied 

Mycroft shook his head, ignoring his answer and responding to the one he had left unsaid. 

"We both know that's not quite true. "

They stayed silent, just like they had been the first time they had had this conversation millenniums ago. 

"It will soon leave. "

Sherlock automatically glanced up, knowing what the other was talking about. 

_ The last spaceship bringing the rest of humanity to its new home.  _

Finally, humans had understood just what The Dynamics of an Asteroid had been about all this time. 

Space travel, reaching for the stars and finally grasping them, leaving the dying Earth to choose another planet, flying at a speed that should have been impossible and yet could be attained thanks to Jim's equations. 

"I know. "

Mycroft stood straighter, as cold as he always was, but for a second, Sherlock saw something glinting behind the ice in his eyes. 

"You know what you have to do then. "

_ Did he? Did he?  _

Sherlock nodded, turning to face the statue as the other left. 

\------

At first, he just stood there, facing the other man, motionless, immobile, relishing in his light.

He almost felt ordinary when he was with him, like he was the pagan bringing offerings to the shrine, worshiping his God's effigy and waiting for his blessing.

The light flickered, its tendrils softly embracing Sherlock. 

"You are conscious aren't you? " it was a fact more than it was a question. 

He had been all this time, watching, listening, as Sherlock told him of his life, as the detective tried to find the words that would stop his suicide... 

Softly, gently, he took the statue's hand, and the moss slowly decayed, turning into dust, the stone falling away to reveal pale skin and dark fabric. 

They both stayed still for an instant, dark eyes scrutinizing his face, searching, asking. 

_ 'Why? ' _

_ Why stop me?  _

_ Why save me?  _

_ Why keep me?  _

"Why?" 

The question rang in the forest, permeating the air. 

Sherlock licked his lips, feeling the word already forming in his mouth, whole and complete, that answer he had always known but never voiced. 

"Absolution. "

Jim smiled, and that smile was all they needed. 

_ Absolution. _

Giving it was the easiest thing James Moriarty had ever done. 

With their hands still tightly clasped, their souls as firmly linked as their fingers were, they left the forest and climbed into the spaceship, lights mixing as they soared towards the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all liked it! Don't hesitate to leave a comment, that would really make my day!


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